Why The Moon Weeps
by The Dramatic Sneeze
Summary: Dark!AU, The aftermath of Castiel's unhindered reign on the earth. Drabble; Mention of Destiel


The sun blazed like a fire unquenchable by any mortal, ordinary force. Not water, not man, nor deity or god. It rippled the fabric of reality, twisting and turning the waves of time and answering to no one with regards to it's decision to do so. The heat sweltered around him, salty droplets of pain and determination carving lustrous trails in his tanned, matte skin. Welts and blisters tainted his flesh as he fought a losing battle as no man can defeat the sun. When he opened his mouth, a symphony of agonies and trials no one man should ever face poured from his chest, first like vomit and then like a song. One he'd been aching to sing for years and years and years.

Scarred feet kicked small clouds in the dusty earth, who'd also lost it's own battle with the blaze of fire. They had not been taught to face a trial like this. The term trial is used loosely, for the definition of which requires one to emerge as something new. Perhaps broken, perhaps better, perhaps not quite whole but to emerge, nonetheless. However, it does not change the fact that it was not something he'd been prepared for. Though it sounded quite silly, really. No father should have to teach his sons how to die. Although, it seemed as though it should be useful knowledge.

Except they weren't dying, the world had done that for them.

Now all that remained were their broken bodies and a shred of unfailing hope that would never see reality. Long limbs sprawled in the dirt beside him were concrete proof of it. Dyed crimson by the sun's rage, flesh once muscled and strong was instead thinly stretched over bones that had worked far too long and too hard for their time.

It had been a shame, really. Not that it would end this way, but that it wouldn't end another. They'd always envisioned falling in a blaze of glory, a naive fantasy that all men share, no matter what inevitable war may bring it. It's silly, really, but if they could speak to the past, only somewhat-broken versions of themselves and tell them how it really ends, they'd find themselves being laughed at. By themselves.

A bark of something that could have once been laughter bucks from his throat and is harsh on his own ears.

The moon came with a whisper. Not until it rose high above did he realize the reason he couldn't rightly see his feet was because it had become night time. The luminous glow softened the stark, jutted edges of both himself and the figure that lay without motion. A violent shiver ripped through his body as the remnants of the day's heat which had stored away in his flesh fled him like an overturned birdcage.

Soon, he was huddled close to the icy body beneath him in attempt to share any reserves that may not have yet found escape. Wind whipped at his face, his arms and exposed flesh but it was a mere breath to him. A small twitch beneath him that he may have imagined but hell if he'd take any changes. The mop of burnished hair beneath him was the catalyst that kept him from putting his teeth to his wrists. There was little to fight for, anymore. In fact ,there was nothing to fight for. There was nothing to fight. There was nothing. The only proof that there was once a fight was the raised, pink marks in their skin, the rusty ground and the vast, patterned footprints that still had yet to be erased from some parts of the earth.

The moon cast it's sympathetic rays on their burnt flesh, caressing their filthy locks and sharing their despair. For he understood, as his brother also lay dead or dying beside him and never would he leave the one his existence had been dedicated too. For he also trembled behind the larger body of his brother in fear of a more spiteful being on the other side. A being who struck out with a rage bestowed upon him and not as intentional as one might think. One who regarded his power as a right rather than a privilege and treated it as such. He, too, mourned the loss of one once even considered a lover, though not many can remember that far.

Because death and loss can be regarded as two very separate things, though one is rarely present without the other.

That is why the moon weeps.


End file.
